I could not submit to God's will--could not be willing that William should be lost--nay, I was not willing that any one should be lost.

I could not stay in heaven, and know that any one was enduring endless torments in some other place! I must leave and go to their relief.

It was dreadful that Abraham did not even try to go to poor Dives, or to send some one.
My whole soul flew into open revolt; then oh! the total depravity which could question "the ways of God to man." I hated Milton.

I despised his devils; had a supreme contempt for the "Prince of the Power of the Air;" did not remember a time when I was afraid of him.

God was "my refuge and my shield, in straits a present aid." If he took care of me, no one else could hurt me; if he did not, no one else could; and to be accepted by him was all there was or could be worth caring for; but how should I find this acceptance with my heart full of rebellion?
One afternoon I became unable to think, but a white mist settled down over hell.